Something Good
by WakingUpSlowly
Summary: You would think a crumbling girl would resist someone as abraisive as Santana, but truth be told Quinn doesn't have anyone else.
1. Chapter 1

Her hair was loose and left un-brushed. The moon was bright and far away, and she walked down the middle of the road in the silence of the empty streets barefoot. It was a small town anyway. No one was going to catch her. And even if they did, she couldn't possibly care less; she was in the middle of a mental breakdown.

High school was supposed to be perfect. She was supposed to be on top for four years of her life, and then plummet down as a Lima loser. She was ok with that. She was dedicated to that, in fact, and had been since middle school when she made the transformation from Lucy to Quinn.

She spun on her heel in the middle of the intersection, and went straight into Lima Heights. It didn't even matter. For a bunch of hard asses, it was a little silly that they all went to sleep by 3 AM. It was now 4: 56 AM, and she still couldn't be bothered by anything like fear regardless because she was still breaking down, thank you very much. Her nose upturned, she strode down the center of the ghetto seeming to glow as her thin white nightclothes caught the moonlight.

She had no boyfriend. He got stolen away by an upstart loser in her sophomore year. And really, had she ever had him? It was never about true love. If she were honest with herself, and she was, she wasn't even mad at Rachel anymore. She was envious of her talent because it afforded her dreams, and seeing her passionate little strides become merrier over the years could sometimes bring the pricking of relieved tears to Quinn's eyes. At least she hadn't permanently scarred the girl. Quinn remembers being Lucy, and remembers being damaged, and she never really wanted to hurt anybody anyway. She was propelled by fear. Fear that her precious four years wouldn't be perfect, because they were the only chance she had.

She walked boldly up to a red front door, her padded feet making light sounds in the night. It was a comfort to her, oddly. Perhaps it was just the consistency of the rhythm. Or maybe it was because her footsteps sounded stronger, more confident than she was in reality.

She had no popularity. It had been chipping away into little pieces since her sophomore year. She joined the glee club. She got knocked up. She got kicked off the cheerios. Glee club lost. She quit the cheerios. She was a skank. She remained in the glee club. And here she was, feeling more like a skank than any of those posers under the bleachers, picking the lock to a family home.

She had no daughter. She gave her away sophomore year. To a woman she didn't know. She even tried to steal her back, and frankly she should have realized she needed help during a hysterical sobbing fit when she was fourteen and her nose wasn't perfect, but figuring it out in her baby stealing days would have been good enough. Even so, she didn't truly realize until a few hours ago, when she got out of bed.

She crept up the stairway and through the last door on the left.

She felt fat. She felt so fat she couldn't sleep. And that's when she realized she needed help. She had only gotten one perfect year out of her four, and maybe her whole life. She was supposed to go to college, and it was only a few hours ago that she realized she was falling apart at the seams, and she felt like she couldn't breathe.

And she. Felt. Fat. She reached out to Santana's shoulder, which was poking out from where most of the rest of her was buried under a quilt.

"Santana." She whispered helplessly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Santana woke up with a jolt, looking up at Quinn wide-eyed.

Whimpering, Quinn could only choke out the words "I feel fat."

Santana's mild terror quickly faded away to a much more severe aggravation.

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me Quinn? I don't have time to make Barbie feel pretty again, its- " she twisted her body over to blearily read the glowing red 5: 07 on her nightstand. "- It's motherloving five o' _seven_ Quinn! Did you break into my house at five o' _seven_ to tell me about all your stupid little anal-retentive problems? I have a_ life_ Quinn; I'm singing in glee tomorrow, I still have cheerios! I don't really care about your dumb blonde ass or how fat you feel or how you feel at all. You? Are an imbecile. Other people have _real_ problems and you know what they _aren't _doing right now? They aren't in my bedroom whining at me at- five o' _eight_. Fantastic." She glared up at Quinn as she caught her breath.

Quinn, not really having been expecting any reaction in particular out of Santana, wasn't too surprised by the one she got. But it didn't matter how furious anyone was at her anyway, because she was still in the middle of a breakdown. So she stood there. Unfazed. Though she was still crying because it felt like her life was ending.

After a few seconds Santana sat up, pulling the quilt to cover her chest. Santana slept naked- something Quinn had already known, and when Santana remembered she became even more enraged.

"And fuck you, you creepy bitch you literally are just standing there invading my privacy in the house you invaded while im goddamn naked and supposed to be asleep! For what literally amounts to no reason at all. Not that I would have cared if you were feeling fat tomorrow at school, but it still would have been a better time to tell me. Or didn't you think of that? Because the world revolves around you, right, you crazy whore?"

Quinn remained where she stood, but followed Santana's gaze as it drifted down to a sweatshirt lying on the floor. She stooped to pick it up silently while Santana continued to glare at her, fuming still but saying nothing more.

As she handed the garment over, she looked back unafraid into eyes which seemed to somehow glow black in the dark of the room. Her lips quivered slightly, and Santana's resolve broke. Letting out a defeated sigh, she snatched the hoodie and covered herself.

After staring up at Quinn for a few more seconds, she grumbled and moved over in the bed.

"C'mere." She grunted, and pulled back the covers.

Quinn scurried under, proud for some strange reason that Santana felt comfortable enough around her to let her in the bed while her lower half was still naked. She felt trusted, for a reason she couldn't name but was sure was stupid. Giving up a weak smile to Santana, who narrowed her eyes as her lips thinned into a frown, she got comfortable in the warmth left behind from the brunette's body.

The two lay there for almost an hour, Santana sprawled on her back with Quinn curled up and crying quietly into her pillow. Quinn could tell the other girl was awake and listening because of the way her brows would furrow every now and then as she thought quietly to herself.

When the sky was just turning grey, and the shapes in the room were becoming visible, Santana opened her eyes with her anger greatly diminished. She could see Quinn's face was flushed from crying, her lips and cheeks tinted red, and her eyes bloodshot and glassy.

"Go to sleep." She commanded quietly, her voice raspier than usual and her gaze unfocused with exhaustion.

Quinn nodded quietly and tried to catch her breath.

Just as she was finally calmed down and she was beginning to drift off, her eyes flickered up to the dark ones in front of her.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked timidly, and could practically feel a wave of might come from the eye roll Santana directed at her.

"Go. To sleep."

And so she did, curled up hoping desperately for something she couldn't define.


	2. Chapter 2

Quinn awoke to the sound of Univision blaring up through the wall all the way from the living room below. A wide smile made its way onto her face as she noticed warm thighs pressing into the backs of her own, and a toned arm flung around her waist and coiled tightly around her.

She snuggled further into Santana's pillow, and wondered what her father would say if he could see her now. She was certain there would be dozens of things he would find wrong with this picture. With her entire night, in fact.

She basked in the moment anyway. She lay there imagining her father's face exploding with tyrannical rage, and she giggled internally, delighting in the knowledge that she would never want to wake up differently. She wasn't alone. She could smell a breakfast cooking, and hear the chatter of a family. The sun was bright and streaming through the window at her back, making her sleepy and warm and wishing she could stay in bed all day. Someone cared enough to hold onto her while she slept, despite how worthless and moody she had been feeling.

And just like that, her mood changed. Wouldn't you know it? She felt her heart plummet into her stomach and all of her sunny morning feelings melt in its acid. Tilting her head back, she saw Santana's eyes closed.

"You know I'm not Brittany, right?" she questioned quietly. What if Santana was only being so kind and cuddly because she thought Quinn was someone else? People rarely got snuggled by Santana. Maybe Quinn shouldn't be feeling special at all, and she was about to get booted out of her new warmth.

Santana scoffed behind her.

"You think I can't tell the difference between you and Brittany?"

Quinn felt herself go from sullen to humiliated. Of course Santana could tell the difference. Brittany was long and lean and toned and perfect.

Santana shifted behind her, and propped herself up on one arm to peer over at Quinn. After giving her a good long look and taking in her mournful eyes, she crawled out of bed and found herself a pair of panties to slide up her legs before briskly walking out the door.

Quinn stayed in bed, and put her hand to her forehead simply trying to regulate her emotions.

A few short minutes later, Santana returned with a plate. Quinn sat up and found another small, fragile smile making its way onto her face when she realized what had just happened. She had been brought breakfast in bed.

Santana slid the plate onto her lap, and walked over to her side of the bed to sit down and turn off her alarm before it blared through their precious peace. Quinn's fingers, weak from slumber, grasped at a toasted bagel. Upon turning it she found its middle to be filled with egg, cheese, and bits of bacon. She smiled before sudden tears sprang from her eyes before she could even register her sorrow.

Santana turned to her confused. Quinn stared at the tasty looking food helplessly. She licked her lips, and brought it closer, taking in its sweet scent.

"There's not something wrong with it, is there?" Asked Santana perplexed, and also leaning down to sniff it.

"No, it looks good. I want to eat it, I just…" Quinn put it down guiltily. "I just don't know if I'll be able to burn it off."

Santana swiped the plate off the blonde's lap and put it on her nightstand with a huff.

"Well, fine." She said testily. "I suppose you don't have anything to wear do you? Were you going to drive home before school?"

"I walked here" Quinn replied evenly.

Santana paused while rummaging through her drawers.

"You _walked_? Through Lima Heights wearing that? You don't even have shoes! At five o' clock in the morning?"

Quinn bit her lip and stared back at Santana.

With a mixed look of exasperation and incredulity Santana pulled two pairs of skinny jeans out and threw one to Quinn. While Santana rummaged for shirts, Quinn stood and delicately paced to the window, where she looked out onto the street below.

"What's this all about, Quinn?" Santana asked, flopping back down onto her bed and nestling back against the pillows.

Quinn turned slowly to where Santana rested. "I just really wanted something good, you know? I really wanted to have something to look back on; I just wanted to have something, anything to be happy about."

Quinn noticed Santana looking somewhat unimpressed, and was suddenly irked. She continued with more of an edge.

"It is _not_ too much to ask, you know. It's not crazy to want to be happy. To want just a little satisfaction out of your life. That's all I wanted, and looking back I'm seeing that I was _never_ satisfied, and excuse me if it's starting to rattle my nerves a bit!"

The two stared at each other until Quinn let out a huff. "Yeah; wanky. Whatever."

Santana let out a low chuckle, but Quinn simply lowered her head and stared at the floor. In the morning light, Santana realized that she had never seen Quinn look so tired. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes raw. Maybe Quinn Fabray was actually in real danger this time.

Scooting over to the edge of her bed, Santana swung her legs off the side, and motioned for Quinn to come over.

Quinn stepped towards her companion carefully, not sure what to expect, but definitely not expecting to be grabbed by the hips and pulled down into Santana's lap like a child. After realizing Santana was being genuine, she lay her head gingerly on her friend's shoulder, and allowed her back to be rubbed in gentle circles.

Santana's legs were still uncovered, and after having been pulled into a sitting position, Quinn's nightgown had ridden up. For the second time, Quinn felt Santana's warm skin against her own, and despite her tumultuous feelings, she felt a rather pleasing sensation welling up in her stomach.

This is of course, when the door to Santana's room swung open, leaving them face to face with her mother.

"Ai, dios mio!" she muttered fretfully, covering her eyes with one hand and turning away from the door.

"Mom!" Santana screamed. "What are you doing? This isn't what it looks like…"

"I just came to tell you you're going to be late for school; Oh, god, my baby, I never wanted to see this… ella es demasiado joven!"

With an eye roll of exasperation, Santana maneuvered Quinn out of her lap, and onto the bed next to her. "We weren't doing anything!"

"Santana, you've been hiding a girl in your room! I walk in; she's on your lap- you're only in your underwear! Oh, god, my baby girl…" she shut the door, muttering further in distressed Spanish.

Quinn, flushed with embarrassment turned to Santana, fully expecting to be blamed.

Santana, much to her surprise, merely slid on her jeans and began brushing her teeth in the bathroom.

"Uhm…" Quinn began, creeping to Santana. "I'm s-"

"Save it. Had to happen eventually, right?"

"_Had_ to? You could always just… not hide girls in your room."

With a completely self-satisfied smirk, Santana began the descent downstairs.

It was fifteen minutes later that Quinn entered the kitchen and came face to face with a terrifying, tiny Mrs. Lopez. Quinn's face was guilty and flushed, and her body was sporting clothes belonging to Santana.

Mrs. Lopez eyed her over with purpose, after pausing to stare her down for a solid minute.

"You had better be good to my little princess." She grit out, looking fierce with hair curlers still to be taken out.

"Uh!" Quinn grunted out, startled into an elegant start. "Well, I will, but were just friends…" she trailed off helplessly.

From her position manning the frying pan, Santana's eyebrows rose along with the corners of her mouth as she glanced amusedly at the scene before her.

"Just _friends_?"

Quinn took a step back, realizing her blunder. "Well- yes… Santana's my best friend, and we-"

"_No_! You don't tell me- you in my house! _Santana_! This is not how we raised you to behave!" Red faced and flustered, the woman bustled along and continued her morning routine, leaving the girls in the kitchen perfectly capable of hearing her angry muttering.

Quinn sat gingerly at the kitchen table, not at all equipped to handle more drama than her life was currently filled to the brim with.

"You couldn't have helped me out back there?" Quinn asked, her voice shaking with emotional overload, which startled her, and left her quiet. She had sounded like she was about to cry but she didn't feel too terribly upset.

"I'll set her straight later, don't worry. Your name's gonna be cleared by dinner time." She turned to place a plate of eggs on the table, and furrowed her brows as she realized the look of distress on her friends face. "You OK?"

Quinn nodded, not wanting to hear her own voice again. It had been too surreal, to hear her body betraying the wreckage of her life when she hadn't given it permission.

Santana's lips quirked down, and ever a loyal (if not surly) friend, she pulled Quinn's head to rest against her stomach and began to stroke her hair. Quinn nearly burst into tears at the gentle contact, but kept her composure.

It was at this time that Mrs. Lopez reentered the kitchen, frowning immensely at what she was bearing witness to.

Santana, smirking yet again, scurried to her seat on the other side of the table.

"Just friends." Said Mrs. Lopez. "Defiling my princess in secret, in the dead of night-!"

Quinn's jaw fell open as Santana started to die.

"As if she'd be a top-!" Santana couldn't help but blurt out, realizing that her suppressed laughter may have been more appropriate. Quinn squealed indignantly, not seeing at all how any of this was an OK thing to talk about at the breakfast table, or ever, at all, ever. At all.

Mrs. Lopez slammed the door to the refrigerator and continued to pace around the kitchen allowing her heels to click menacingly against the tile floor as she pulled her own breakfast together.

"What ever happened to Brittany, anyway?"

Santana's face fell immediately, and all of her laughter died. Quinn's heart broke at the sight, though Mrs. Lopez, with her back turned, noticed nothing.

"You know she was too sweet to go stalking through the night, sneaking around and breaking rules. You know she would never tell me 'just friends'." And with that, she blew out of the room like a hurricane's wind, started her car nosily in the driveway, and went on her way.

Long after the sound of the car had disappeared down the street, the girls still hadn't said a word. In truth, Brittany had only a month ago said the words "Just friends."


	3. Chapter 3

After refusing two breakfasts, Quinn had also refused school, and had been adamant about staying home for the day.

She was out of cheerios. She had no boyfriend. She certainly couldn't bear to sing.

So she was currently seated on her couch, with Santana across from her, who had adamantly reminded Quinn that of course she had the balls to skip class.

The brunette drummed her fingers on the ottoman she had perched herself upon, and allowed her eyes to rake over empty bottles and pictures roughly shoved face down, with bits of glass powdering their resting places.

"So whose face got smashed?" She asked.

"Dad's." answered Quinn in a gray voice.

"So who got… smashed?" Said Santana, toeing a bottle on the floor.

"Mom."

"So."

"Hmm."

"So if everything's still balls why'd you put your hair back to normal?"

"Beth."

"So who is it exactly you're… so depressed about?"

"Me."

Santana, at a complete loss, was left looking around the room uncomfortably. She had wanted to say something decent. Tell Quinn there was still hope for something good to come along, still hope that she could be satisfied with something. She wouldn't say wanky. She really had had good intentions, and even though she was half asleep had been listening the night before; but suddenly she felt leeched, and left empty handed.

"I'm sorry." Came Quinn's haggard voice. You should just go to class, ok? I'm fine here by myself.

Santana took in her somewhat sickly looking skin, her tired eyes, and the slight quiver in her lips as she fought her emotions back down her throat.

"Yeah, SO fine." She snarked. "So fine you would have some popcorn and watch some shit, right? So fine you could gossip and enjoy it, right? And since you're so totally absolutely just dandy, I don't need to tell you that the only way to get rid of me is by calling the cops. 'Cause you don't wanna get rid of me. I'm absolutely darling."

Quinn let out a dainty sigh as Santana wandered into her kitchen, sauntering around and badgering the cupboards for food. She stared hard at her feet, in a pair of Santana's own socks. Wiggling her toes, she couldn't help but think it would be better for her to be alone. She assumed Santana meant well, but even when she tried to help it felt a bit like she was being bullied.

Eventually, two other feet appeared on the ground by her own, and she looked up dazedly to see Santana with a villainous French- looking moustache drawn onto her face with chocolate syrup. As a small smile cracked its way onto her face, Santana brandished a large bowl of popcorn, with an enormous grin erupting onto her face with pride. Quinn hadn't even heard the kernels pop.

The bowl was plopped into her lap, and suddenly she was laughing in sobs at the moustache, at the smile, at just the sheer joy of having company. Tears streamed easily down her face in bulbous rivulets as she tried to keep herself from choking, catching her tears on her bare arm and in her open palm to keep them out of the popcorn.

Quietly, and with a look of absolute concentration, Santana reached out and gently cupped Quinn's face with warm hands, and studiously leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"How about a movie, OK? It'll be something dumb. Real easy to pay attention to, real campy, ok?" She coaxed.

With a sniffle Quinn nodded her head and watched as her friend found her laptop and flipped it open. She choked back another sob as she watched Santana enter her password without even thinking about it.

Letting her head fall back against the couch she lay limply watching the dexterous fingers run across the keyboard.

"Where are you getting the movie?" she asked groggily, trying to make conversation.

"I'm pirating it."

Normally Quinn would take up moral issue with the notion, but today she simply closed her eyes and waited to be spoon fed something to take her mind away. She felt a bit like a baby, suddenly completely dependent on the girl she wished were gone a few minutes ago. How could she have doubted Santana's intentions? Looking over she saw half the moustache get licked away and knew without a doubt that she had a good and loyal friend beside her.

"Alright. This one's pretty stupid." Santana said, scuttling over and putting the computer across from them. As she settled in, she reached over and rubbed Quinn's back a few times between her wing bones. Quinn passed the popcorn over, not quite ready to eat yet.

The movie was perfect. The action scenes took up more time than the plot, the effects were homemade, the acting was sub sub-par, and best of all the sex scenes were raunchy and so horribly coordinated it was laughable.

Instead of mocking the film like it was a brace-faced freshman however, Santana spent much of the film glancing at Quinn to make sure she wasn't about to break down. And she was getting more and more desperate to see any glimmer of life in the other girl's eyes.

Excessive fake blood, guts, and gore? Not a flinch.

Terrible acting and humorously flat dialogue? Not even a chuckle.

Cheesy one- liners by the part time body builder hero? No eye rolling.

By the time the sex scene rolled around, Santana knew to quash her hopes of seeing a scandalized yet amused goody two shoes. Turning her eyes over to the blonde just in case, she made a fascinating discovery.

Quinn's eyes had glazed over slightly, and she was staring rather intently at the screen.

"_No way."_ Santana thought. _"She's hot for this?"_

Upon further inspection of the screen, it occurred to her that only the female lead had removed any (all) clothing.

"_Wait." _Santana told herself. _"That can't be right." _She popped a kernel into her mouth flicking her eyes between the screen and Quinn's reactions.

When Quinn gulped noticeably Santana couldn't contain herself and shouted "**You!**"

Startled, Quinn jumped. "Me? What!"

"You are _so_gay right now, that's what!"

Eyes wide and cheeks burning red, Quinn felt her jaw drop as she began to sweat. Suddenly this wasn't even remotely fun anymore. Suddenly she felt even more miserable than she thought she could, and suddenly, Mrs. Fabray was bursting through the front door, bumbling, drunk, and rambling.

"Mom!" yelled the poor blonde, both relieved and somehow infinitely more anxious.

"Oh, Quinny!" She squealed, obviously giddy. "Hello, sweetie, how good to see you- and Santana! Why, dear, I hear you like women now- how interesting!"

"Uh, yeah thanks-"

"Woops! Ahahah-"Mrs. Fabray stumbled slightly, catching herself on the banister.

"Mom…" Quinn murmured, sounding as though she weren't quite in her own body, with her eyes gone blank.

"Oh, don't let me stay in your way girls- I'll just head upstairs!" Mrs. Fabray was all smiles as she stumbled up the stairs, almost falling backwards a handful of times. Quinn skittered to the landing, not once taking her deadened eyes from her mother's back, ready to bolt upwards if she fell.

When her bedroom door clicked shut in the distance of the enormous manor, a terrible silence fell over the room.

"So…" Santana tried.

"I think it would be best if you left now."

"No, I-"

"No. Really. I can't have you around when she's like this, I have responsibilities."

"Maybe I could help."

"I don't want you to help!" Quinn insisted, getting tired of being helpless.

"No, please, let's just finish the movie."

Glancing at the paused computer screen, some of the pink came back to the blonde's face. Hesitating, she looked up into deep brown eyes, and saw in them nothing but sincerity.

"Ok…" she conceded, and sat down delicately on the couch.

A few more minutes into the sex scene, and Santana could tell Quinn was getting uncomfortable.

"If you want we could…" Santana gestured closing a laptop, but as Quinn opened her mouth to respond, the distant sound of weeping could be heard floating down the stairwell.

Alarmed, Santana shifted in her seat to hear better.

"Don't worry about it. I just have to go… take care of her." Quinn hated even saying the words. She couldn't help but to resent the woman she had to treat like her own daughter. When was her childhood supposed to have been? She was left awake all hours of the night shouldering her mother's problems. Why couldn't she just escape this place and get away? Why should the guilt hold her back? She tried to be callous, but through all the resentment broke a sympathy she was powerless to fight.

Santana had quietly slipped on her shoes, and stood now before Quinn, mind reeling through possible things to say, but everything sounded like a hallmark card- worth three dollars when Quinn needed a thousand. Worth throwing in the trash when Quinn so desperately wanted treasure.

Bending down quickly, she gave her a peck on the check, and began to make her way to the door.

"Santana." Quinn stopped her. "I'm not… "she tried, flustered. "That wasn't…" She said pointing to the computer.

With a smirk Santana reassured her. "I know, kiddo, just wish I could say something." And with a sad smile, she ruffled the blonde's hair and left.

Once again, when the door clicked shut, Quinn was left in the shadows of her own home, feeling sick to her stomach and so alone.


	4. Chapter 4

She leapt, spun, twirled. Her muscles could coil and melt with the briefest wisp of a thought. And she pranced through every day, flirting left, right, and backwards down the halls of McKinley High. Backwards especially, on this particular Monday. After having bumped into countless familiar faces, Brittany S. Peirce still had yet to learn her lesson, though it's easy to forgive a kind (and popular) face.

However, as she bid adieu to a dashing hockey player, her shoulder knocked into Santana's, and both of their hearts were left shattered at ground zero. Santana's eyes had gone black with regret the moment she looked up at the offender, quickly finding the world's cruelest torture yet. The light of the merry flame in Brittany's baby blues had been snuffed out immediately to know she had caused such a devastation. She was left cold, and the previous levity of her body had gracefully fled, leaving her muscles feeling like lead.

Both had turned instantly, marching in the opposite direction as soldiers might, a mere second after the encounter. As much as Santana wanted to punch the girl in her happy teeth, she refrained. As she sulked away towards the rest of her miserable day, she couldn't help but wonder why.

Brittany had wanted something as well. Her heart hesitated, as she turned away. For the rest of her day, she was left trying to identify the bile in her spirit. Disappointment? Guilt… no… regret… yearning, nostalgia… all of these held precedence over math, history, conversations she hadn't meant to be in.

They now took precedence over her dance. Its fluidity took on a sorrowful quality as her body wove around Mike's, stepping in and out of frustration, and languidly floating through flips, as she played with the abstract and cloudy musings in her mind's eye.

Santana watched on, knowing there was an internal pain crippling the dancer. Knowing she had everything to do with it. Wishing it would start feeling good, feeling like revenge. It wouldn't. She sank lower in her seat, her face taking on a snarl. In her attempt to tune it out, she was left listening to the lyrics of the angry love song pouring from the mouths of her peers. It made her stomach churn. Finally trying to get out of the agony, her eyes began darting around the room, as though her soul were on fire and a distraction would quench it.

"_Artie's shoes are hideous. That's not new _or _interesting. Finn is ugly, Puck is dumb. That note was flat… but god, the rest of that line hit home. Why are they doing this to me? Quinn is out of it." _She finally found the relief she needed in Quinn. Her mind flashed to her booze soaked mother, and her nightly escapade through Lima. That girl had layers of wrong, and she was certainly going to crack soon, assuming she hadn't already.

Inspecting her more closely, she realized with horror that she had seen that look on Quinn's face before. Her eyes widened incredulously as she recognized Quinn's newly discovered sex-dazed face.

"_No way." _She thought, glancing towards the front of the room. "_She's hot for someone right now."_

Her eyes narrowed in on what Quinn was looking at, and with fury she realized it was Brittany. "_No. No way. And Brittany would love it, too. She's been whoring this place up looking for new love, and Quinn's... pretty." _

Fuming, Santana stormed out of the room at the end of the performance, before anyone had a chance to clap. At Mr. Shue's reproachful gaze, she muttered a bitter "Rehearsal's over, right?" and let the door slam shut on her way out. How could Quinn seek her out, acting like she cared? Looking to _her_ for comfort?

No one saw Quinn's soft eye's follow her through the doorway, with the innocent concern of someone falling apart, and letting bleed from the fresh cracks sympathy for another.

Under the bleachers Santana found solace. The skanks had recently gone, leaving the air cloudy with mixed smoke, and the ground sparkling with smashed bottles of skunk beer and the embers of either cigarettes or adolescent arson.

Taking off her ridiculously expensive leather coat, she threw it to the ground so she could sit safely in the only shadow hidden from the mass of judgmental youth. "_Thanks, Daddy."_ She thought bitterly, resigned to abuse his gifts to her the same way she had abused her own body with sex for almost three years of high school. Closing her eyes, she decided she would rather dwell on something new.

Scowling at the ground she imagined Quinn and Brittany. Brittany, whose sweet voice had cooed her through so much darkness. Only to leave her squinting and alone in a light so harsh she couldn't find her way again.

"Bitch." She hissed out, stretching out her toe to smother a cigarette butt.

"Hey-ho." Puck. Interrupting as usual.

Rolling her eyes up from his clunking boots, her morose stare hit his grin. She couldn't help the sideways smile that twitched on her lips in response.

He wiggled his eye brows. "Hey, hoe." He mocked, laughing at his own joke.

With a sigh Santana leaned back on her palms.

"So." He began. "Got your heart broken, huh?" With no prelude. Sitting down in the glassy dirt, he paid no heed to his pants or his safety. Somehow his bluntness left Santana feeling a bit empowered.

"That was weeks ago, though, I thought you were chill. Not BFFs again, but… chill?" He tilted his head to look at her.

"Well. I was."

"Well?"

"Well maybe she's gonna be with someone else now. I caught someone looking today."

"People have been looking since freshman year. I thought you'd have been more worried when she stopped looking at you."

"Well this is different. This girl is… gorgeous. Damn it."

"Sweet lady action, huh? Who is it?"

"A traitor, that's who. What the fuck."

Puck stared at her intently. "If she's a traitor, you can tell me. Come on, exact some revenge. Some wet sticky gossipy revenge."

Santana chuckled darkly. "It's not right you know, to out someone. I would know."

"Yeah, you would know. And Finn was wrong, but now no one gives you any crap. So it worked out OK."

"Finn isn't gay. And neither are you. Neither of you understand. It just isn't something you can do."

"Come on. What if I swear not to tell?"

"Uhm, hello?" a quiet voice cut in.

The duo looked up through the smoky haze to see a demure Quinn, looking dreadfully prim and out of place. Though she had recently called this place her hangout along with the grade F students, she looked around as if the space were completely alien to her.

"Hey there, baby mamma. You wanna hang?" Puck stood to welcome her with a show of chivalry he demonstrated to Quinn alone.

"I was actually wondering if I could just speak with Santana." She gave him a sweet smile, not laced with any ice, malice, or cheerleading venom. Santana wondered if this habit ran along the same vein as Puck's manners, or if she was just so haggard she couldn't handle anything twofaced.

With a small bow and a joking grin, he stepped out and began to stride off towards his jeep in the lot. As he turned to give his sullen Latina a wave goodbye, he halted suddenly at what he saw. Santana's eyes, as they looked up towards Quinn. They were guarded, they were conflicted… they were _betrayed. _He knew. His gut told him most things, because he kept his head clean and empty, and he simply _knew_.

As Quinn bent to kick away some debris to put her bag down, Santana looked up to see Puck, wide eyed and pointing at Quinn as he jumped up and down in the excitement of the revelation. She shot him a look which said simply to get the hell out.

He took a step away, his eyes still bulging as he lusted for the details. Quinn was the one. Quinn looked at Brittany. When? Why? Was she…?

He sprinted away with his thoughts reeling, but by the time his ass hit he seat of his jeep he found himself resigned to handle the situation with maturity. No telling Finn, no telling anyone. No rude phone calls, immature jokes. Could he handle no prying? Maybe not. But that was the woman he had gotten pregnant, and if Santana was right about being a lesbian- and she was the accepted expert of McKinley, then he held now precious information under his mohawk.

Back under the gleaming bleachers, Quinn stood timidly before Santana, a tentative smile on her face.

"You alright?" she asked gently. The two had always been best friends. They had always understood each other in terms of predicting the other's next move, in terms of weaknesses and fears. They had never checked on the other, despite the fact that each saw every glimpse of pain in the other's face and heard every strained word swallowing emotions secret to everyone else.

In reality, they had been something both opposite to best friend and worst enemy. They had known each other without ever saying so. But while Santana had had Brittany as a true friend, Quinn had had no one.

Looking down at her now was an angel who had never learned how to be one, and Santana couldn't help but try to throw her possessive jealousy into a stranglehold. As Quinn inched nearer, trying to figure out how to sit, Santana found herself suddenly crushed under her need for a new best friend, her need to keep Brittany out of her head, and the realization that if Quinn really did have a thing for Brittany then she was the last person on earth who could comfort her. But she was the one Santana wanted.

She found her hands wrapping confidently around Quinn's hips for the second time as she pulled her down onto the the last bit of space on the jacket. Quinn giggled at the shock, pleased that Santana was allowing her company.

After the two had settled, they turned to each other and Santana looked up into an enormous smile. Quinn was so wrecked that even the smallest amount of joy could leave her giddy with the contrast.

Santana wanted to laugh at the goofy look, but found her lungs exhaling sharply instead, as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

She needed a friend, she knew she did. She needed a friend, and she needed to heal. And so did Quinn. Yet startling images of her and Brittany naked and grinding on the bed that Santana herself had once lay in crept through the corners of her skull.

"_Is that what she wants?" _Santana wondered. "_To have Brittany like I had her?" _She wiped a rogue tear away as she remembered the bed. The pillows. The lights off, and Brittany whispering. Convincing her that it was OK to try the things wanted. That it would be OK no matter what she felt like after. That she would always be there.

Quinn's arms snaked their way around her shoulders, and the blonde tugged her into a one-sided side hug that would have been terribly awkward if she hadn't needed it so desperately. She nuzzled her head

into Quinn's shoulder, still managing not to cry, and wondering if Quinn felt as honored as she should that she was allowed this close.

She remembered when she had first looked at women. A middle schooler in Lima, not knowing a thing about herself, and terrified. Knowing that if what she was afraid of was true, there were people in the world who hated her already. Shuffling from class to class, watching the faces of her peers. They were carefree. She imagined which friends would be disgusted if they knew. Who in the school would kick the crap out of her. Would there be worse in store? She was twelve, what did she know? All she had done was exist, and somehow she felt like a criminal.

Sniffling she realized Quinn had been rubbing her back, occasionally reaching up to pet her hair. She felt a remark about motherhood roll onto her tongue, but she bit it back ignoring her instinct. So what if Quinn wanted Brittany? She couldn't help it the same way Santana couldn't help it.

She imagined the face of that young boy in eighth grade who had looked at her. How within the month she had given up her innocence in the tumultuous fear. How she had done it so many times. How so many people accepted her, propelled her to the schools spotlight. It had seemed disgusting, what sex had bought her. It had seemed safe.

She thought back on that extreme burning in her throat. That thirst to tell the truth. To say what was really going on. She had only ever been so open with Brittany. But Brittany was gone, and here was Quinn. She wondered if Quinn really was going through what she had gone through.

Once more, she felt the unyielding urge to be honest, and dreaded what was on the other side.


End file.
